In The Valley Of Shadows

by Kat Smith

  Devan sat forward. “Why us? There are several teams in Vaziani capable of running this mission.”

  Mara took the question. “This group is highly organized and has information regarding the base that they could’ve only obtained from someone on the inside. We believe they’ve infiltrated the Vaziani civilian personnel.”

  “There’s another reason for your team to be involved, and I will get to that in due course.” Payton turned back to the monitor.

  Alex clicked the remote, and the monitor filled with another map for Payton. “The operative is currently in Moscow but has secured a safehouse in the small town of Makhachkala in the southern region of Russia near the border of Azerbaijan. This is the proposed exfil location.”

  She returned to her seat. “As to your question, Captain, your team will manage the recovery of the operative. There is also a secondary operation led by my team and overseen by U.S. Cyber Command whose objective is to deploy a new software program into the militants’ network. We’ll then be able to collect and monitor their communications, movements, and plans in near real time. Your team will provide security for the secondary mission, which will be led by Lieutenant Sheridan.”

  Devan’s head snapped up. “What?” She glared at Alex. “Oh, hell no. She isn’t going anywhere with my team. I have a tech who can do anything that you need.”

  Payton locked gazes with Devan. “Believe me, you don’t. This program must be deployed by someone who has experience with it. Alex created it, and she’ll be the one to deploy it.”

  Devan jabbed a finger toward Alex. “She hasn’t been in the field in over two years.”

  Payton leaned forward, ready for the fight. “Yes, Captain, she has, on several occasions, just not with you.”

  Enraged, Devan turned to Mara. “Colonel, you know what happened in Charikar. Moore was killed because she refused to follow orders.”

  Alex jumped up from her seat and leaned over, hands flat on the table. “Me? Are you serious? The mission objective was to tap into their satellite feed. That’s what I was trying to do when you got impatient and wanted to pull out.”

  Devan’s chair crashed into the wall when she stood and matched Alex’s stance. “I pulled out because you were too slow. We’d been discovered.”

  Payton glanced at Mara and shook her head. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”

  Mara turned to look at the gash Devan’s chair left in the wall and slammed her hand on the table. “Enough. Both of you, sit.”

  Devan and Alex held their ground and continued glaring across the table at each other.

  Mara stood and shouted, “NOW!”

  Payton watched as the two soldiers snapped their heads toward Mara. She couldn’t help the smirk when the two sat as ordered. The fury on each of their faces reminded her of two bickering children. “God help us.” She realized she had vocalized her prayer when Mara agreed with her.

  Mara regarded them with a stern look. “Whatever the two of you need to work out, do it. You were selected for this mission because of your expertise.” She sat back in the chair. “I’ll be damned if you two will fuck it up over a personal issue that happened over two years ago. A mission that was fully investigated and closed with no formal indictment of any wrongdoing.”

  As the silence settled, Mara took a calming breath. “Director, what’s the timeline?”

  “At this point, everything depends on the operative. He must find a way and means out of the city, reach the safehouse, and make contact. My best guess is two weeks, maybe longer.”

  Devan and Mara sat and silently fumed.

  “Very well then.” Mara closed her folder and nodded.

  With the expectation of another explosion, Payton spoke with firmness, “Alex will be reassigned to your team effective immediately. However, I will need her back at ICC for a day or two next week so she can transfer her active cases to another analyst. Other than that, she’s under your command for the duration of the mission.”

  Devan sat stoically as Alex sent an acerbic smile her way. Sitting here made her feel like she did in the elevator, boxed in with no way out. Her heartbeat was pounding in her chest, and she could hardly wait to be dismissed.

  “Thank you.” Mara regarded Alex. “Meet the captain at the training facility at 0800. She’ll get you settled in, introduce you to the team, and walk you through whatever equipment you need checked out.” She sent a sidelong glance toward Devan. “I don’t doubt your ability, Lieutenant, but since we’ve some time to prepare, I’d like the captain to oversee your readiness training.”

  Alex leveled her chin and acknowledged the order. “Yes, ma’am. I look forward to it.”

  With a long sigh, Mara drummed the end of a pen on her folder. “I suggest you work out your differences or lock them away before tomorrow morning. I will not tolerate any disciplinary issues between the two of you. Is that understood?” She stood and waited for their assent. “You’re both dismissed until 0800 tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Devan stood, shot Alex a look of contempt, then turned to Payton and nodded. “Director.” She then turned and quickly walked out.

  By the time Alex packed up the laptop and rushed out to the hallway, Devan was nowhere to be seen. “Damn it.”

  Payton tossed a pen on the table. “Well, that was…interesting.”

  “I told you to expect pushback,” Mara replied, not the least bit surprised by Devan’s outburst.

  “Pushback? Christ. That was more like two Abrams tanks in a head-on collision.”

  Mara laughed, sat back, and raked a hand through her hair. “They had their say, got it out, now we can move forward.”

  Payton picked up her briefcase. “While I admire your confidence, I think you’re being a bit overly optimistic.”

  “No worries, Director. I know these two. They’ll strut around like a couple of hens. They’ll cackle and make veiled threats, but in the end, they’ll settle down and get the job done.”

  “I have faith in Alex.” Payton opened the door for Mara. “I just hope you know your captain as well as you think.”

  A double knock on the office door broke the silence as Mara read over reports at her desk. “Come.”

  Devan stepped into the office. “Colonel, you wanted to see me?”

  Mara didn’t look up, continued to read, and pointed to a chair with the tip of her pen. “Have a seat, Captain.” The tension in the office was palpable. Mara signed a document, slipped it in a folder, and tossed it in a tray before she sat back and studied Devan. “Captain, I understand you felt blindsided in the meeting this morning. I would normally have given you advance notice, but the timing didn’t allow for it.”

  Devan began to protest, but all Mara had to do was hold up a finger and Devan closed her mouth. “You just returned from a long and difficult mission. You’re tired, probably not thinking very clearly due to the jetlag.” She opened another folder and continued working as she spoke. “However, when you take issue with a mission plan, you bring it to me, privately.”

  “But, Colonel—”

  Again, Mara held up a finger. “The Charikar mission file was closed two years ago. Is that understood?”

  “Colonel, there is no way she’s ready to go back into the field. I won’t put my team in jeopardy because some hotshot ICC analyst needs to prove herself.”

  Mara’s head snapped up. “You mean my team.” She stood, circled the desk, and propped a hip on the edge.

  Devan’s face snapped up to meet Mara’s, her mouth agape. “Colonel, I... I can’t do...”

  “Oh, yes, you can do. You will do.” Mara returned to her desk.

  Devan remained seated, silent, and exasperated. “Yes, ma’am.”

  When Devan continued to sit silently, Mara looked up. “Is there something else, Captain?”

  “Uh, no. No, ma’am.” Deflated, Devan stood and turned toward the door.

  “Captain Conner.” Mara looked up from her work, her expression more charitable.

/>   “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Your team handled this last mission like the exceptional soldiers I know you to be. You’re a natural leader. It’s in your blood, it’s part of the fabric of who you are. You always put the mission first. I expect nothing less from you on this one.”

  Devan snapped a nod. “Of course, Colonel.”

  Mara watched Devan depart, then turned toward the bank of windows that overlooked the exercise. For the first time in a long time, Mara began to second-guess her decision to put the two soldiers together. She knew from an operational perspective that it was the correct thing to do, but her heart wasn’t sure either of them could survive it.

  Chapter Three

  Candlelight flickered off the walls throughout the den. Thick custom-made drapes covered the windows and shut out streetlights and noise from the busy street beyond. The room was warm and inviting, even more so with the soft jazz playing from speakers inconspicuously tucked into the ceiling. Wide crown molding complemented the decorative metal tiles covering the ten-foot ceiling and fashioned a touch of old elegance to the house. Large, thick pile rugs covered the wide plank hardwood floors and topped off the interior design that created an intimate and comfortable living space.

  Alex, wrapped in a plush robe with hair damp from a shower, walked barefoot into the kitchen for another glass of wine. She tugged open the door of the integrated wine cooler, an indulgence she’d saved months to purchase, and retrieved a bottle of red she’d saved for a special occasion.

  “What the hell. I guess special occasion doesn’t necessarily mean a good occasion.” She used a Laguiole corkscrew, another extravagant purchase, to open the bottle and poured a generous glass.

  With several folders tucked under her arm, Alex turned toward the den, stopped, pivoted, and grabbed the bottle with her free hand. “Might as well enjoy it.”

  If Alex’s house revealed elegance, style, and old money, Devan’s apartment was the antithesis. A surfboard floating between two cinderblocks served as a coffee/dining table. A milk crate in the corner held a TV that Devan had plucked from the side of the road on her way home one afternoon. Nails, instead of curtain rods, held a rainbow assortment of faded sheets in place to cover the windows. Instead of rugs, several piles of dirty clothes littered the floor awaiting a trip to the laundromat. Devan didn’t have a home, she had shelter―a place to sleep, a place to hide.

  It wasn’t much better than the ratty shed she’d lived in after she’d run away from her grandmother’s home. Even that hadn’t been a home. The only home she’d ever known had been destroyed when she was seven years old. Her parents went out one evening to attend a party and never returned. A drunk driver crossed the center line, hit them head-on and killed them both instantly.

  Her maternal grandmother had eagerly taken Devan, an only child, into her home and given her as normal a life as possible. Although the death of her parents had been difficult, Devan adjusted and fell into a normal routine. It was a decent life, until the age of ten when her grandmother had a stroke and was placed in a nursing home.

  Devan was dumped into the foster system for several months until the state of Tennessee found her paternal grandmother. The woman had no interest in taking a young girl in until she discovered the state would give her money to do so. She suddenly changed her mind, and Devan was swept off to another city and another school. It didn’t take long for her to realize that the money was what her grandmother relished, not her.

  The money the state sent to help with the expenses of caring for Devan, for clothes, and food was spent on booze and smokes. When Devan outgrew her clothes and showed up to school dressed in shorts and a T-shirt on a snowy winter day, it was a teacher who had given her hand-me-downs from her own child’s wardrobe.

  Devan’s existence was tortured. Each afternoon when she came home from school, she was expected to clean house, do the laundry, and cook. On most nights, dinner consisted of whatever she could find in the line of dumpsters behind the market down the street. The old woman kept a padlocked pantry stocked full of cookies and junk food but rarely allowed Devan a morsel to eat.

  She was nothing more than a servant at her grandmother’s beck and call. The woman was a tyrant, and if something wasn’t done to her ever-changing specifications, Devan found herself on the beating end of a leather belt.

  One day, she’d stopped by the market to dig through the dumpster for something to eat for dinner. She’d only been fifteen minutes late getting home, but from her grandmother’s reaction, she might as well had stayed out all night. The woman had been waiting with a birch switch when Devan came through the door with two plastic bags of half-rotten food. The first swipe hit her across the back of the legs and brought her to her knees. She knew from experience to tuck her head into her arms and endure the beating until her grandmother grew tired. However, her grandmother was in a drunken rage and doled out the worst beating she’d endured in the three years she’d lived there.

  As Devan lay on the floor with blood streaming from the open slashing wounds, she decided enough was enough. When she was able to pull herself from the floor, she packed what few clothes she had into her school bag, ducked out the window, and never looked back. At the age of thirteen, she was living on the streets but determined to somehow crawl out of the gutter from which fate had tossed her.

  She continued to attend school each day and feared that someone from the state would force her back to her grandmother’s house. When a month passed and no one came looking for her, she presumed that her grandmother had never bothered to report her missing because she’d feared the state would stop sending money each month. Devan didn’t care. Her grandmother could have the money as long as she didn’t have to endure the wrath of the evil drunken bitch.

  She’d lived on the streets, fed out of dumpsters, and slept wherever she could find a relatively warm shelter. She honed her street smarts and learned more from the homeless man she’d met one night than she ever learned from a textbook. He’d taught her where to scavenge for the best food, and when one of them lucked on a bounty, they shared.

  She’d been caught dumpster diving at one of the area sports bars several times by the manager. He was the size of an offensive lineman, and Devan easily outran him every time she was busted. However, one night, he’d lain in wait and grabbed her by the waistband of her jeans as she bent head first into the filthy dumpster hunting for food. She fought and kicked, but he simply hauled her through the back door and dropped her on a barstool.

  He set a plate of hot freshly cooked food in front of her, then proceeded to drill her with questions. She figured she’d never see him again, so she answered honestly, but was disappointed that she’d have to find a new place to scrounge for food. She finished off two hamburgers and a mountain of fries as he finished cleaning the kitchen. She learned his name was Craig Courtney, the owner of the sports bar and a former lineman with the Tennessee Titans.

  She tried to bolt when he announced that he was taking her to his house for the night. Other women on the street had told her of men who tried to lure young women in for a warm bed and food only to try to rape them once they were inside a locked house. When running didn’t work, she tried to talk her way out of it, but he wouldn’t relent.

  Craig’s wife, Elaine, and their three kids were waiting at the door when they reached the house. Elaine gave her a good look-over, then led her to the guest bedroom with an en suite bath. Devan had stood under the shower until the water ran cold, then found a stack of clean clothes waiting for her on the bed.

  That night had changed the course of her life. Craig gave her a job in the bar and offered her a safe place to live in exchange for helping the kids with chores around the house. Together, Craig and Elaine provided Devan with the first real home she’d had since her maternal grandmother’s stroke.

  She saved every penny she could and with Elaine’s help applied to the local college after she graduated with honors from high school at sixteen. It was during orientation that
the first spark flashed an interest in the military. She graduated in three years with a degree in political science.

  Now, almost twelve years later, Devan lay on a faded brown sofa and stared at the ceiling. That night, sleep was as sparse as the furnishings. She was rarely thrown off center, but the meeting earlier in the day had done just that. Seeing Alex had brought back pain and disappointment she thought she had left far behind.

  Frustrated, she whipped her legs off the sofa and raked a hand through her short hair. “Damn it. Why now?” Angry now, she grabbed her keys off the surfboard and slammed out the door.

  Four thunderous knocks exploded through the stillness and shook Alex from a deep sleep. She pulled the sash of her robe tight around her waist, staggered to squint into the spyhole, and scowled when Devan’s face slid into view. She considered ignoring the intrusion, but the creak of the old wood floors had given her away. “Who is it?”

  “Open up, Alex.” Devan pounded again. “I know you’re in there. Open the damn door.”

  Alex unchained the door and cracked it open to peer out. “What do you want?”

  Devan shoved her way inside and knocked Alex back a couple of steps. “What the hell are you up to?”

  Alex shut the door and turned to sneer at Devan. “I could ask you the same thing, Captain. Do you make a habit of barging in on people in the middle of the night? It’s 2330 for god’s sake.” Alex was on the threshold of drunk. She returned to the sofa and refilled her wine glass. “I’ve been saving this bottle for an extraordinary occasion. Can’t think of a better one than today, can you?” She raised the bottle toward Devan. “Want some?”

  The well-mannered question threw Devan off center. “No. Yes. A beer if you have one.”

  Alex rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen. “Of course you would. You never were very sophisticated.”